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Dean tightened his grip on Sam's hips, fingertips digging into soft, pale flesh hard enough to bruise. “You gonna beg for me, Sammy?”
Sam ducked his head, hiding it away in the crook of his straining shoulder. He flexed his bound hands and rocked his hips ever so lightly, seeking friction for his leaking cock against Dean's lax hand.
Dean frowned and roughly pinched Sam's nipple as punishment. “No,” he said firmly. “I want to hear you beg first.”
“Dean, come on,” Sam whispered, tears of shame and frustration pricking his eyes as Dean gently stroked a hand up and down the length of Sam's shaft.
“You can do better than that, baby,” Dean cooed, a wicked smile twisting his handsome features into something scary--wrong. “Show me what a little slut you are. Beg for my cock.”
Sam squeezed his eyes closed as Dean gently cupped his balls, light and teasing and driving him fucking crazy. “Please, Dean,” he said, hoarsely. “Please fuck me. Shit, I need to come. Fuck me.”
“That's my boy,” Dean praised, grinding his hips into Sam's. “Keep going. I'm not fully convinced you need it.”
“I do,” Sam rasped. “I do need it. Dean, please. I need you so bad.”
“You want my cock, Sammy?” Dean purred, in between laving light, open-mouthed kissed along Sam's collarbone.
“Yeah,” Sam answered. “Yeah, god, please.”
“Where do you need it?” Dean prodded.
“Inside me,” Sam said loudly, desperately. “I want you in me, Dean.”
Dean chuckled and lifted Sam's legs over his shoulders. “You ready?” he asked, deceptively soft. “Gonna take you hard and fast, baby. No preparation.”
“Yes, Jesus, I don't care,” Sam yelled. “Just fuck me.”
Dean pushing into Sam with no lube sent angry sparks of pain flaring down Sam's spine. He clenched his bound fists around the headboard slats and bit his bicep to keep from screaming. It fucking hurt so bad. But Dean's hand was wrapping around him, pumping long, lazy strokes and his cock was brushing Sam's prostate with every dry thrust, so it felt good, too.
Sam's orgasm felt like both a liberation and a death sentence. Come coated their stomachs, and Dean groaned at the sight, filling Sam up to the brim.
Dean stroked a hand through Sam's hair as he tried to regain his breath. “Did so good, baby boy,” Dean murmured after a long while. “'M proud of you.” He cupped Sam's cheek in a rare show of tenderness. Sam turned into the touch with a mewl, careful to avoid Dean's eyes. That way, Sam could almost forget they were black.